World Divided: Book Two of the Secret World Chronicle-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey; Steve Libby; Cody Martin

  “Where did you learn all that gun stuff?” Bella asked, deciding after due consideration that green chai was probably going to be all right. It was either that, or black chai, or chamomile, and she wasn’t sure how the chamomile would go with whatever it was that Vickie was taking. “Green chai, sugar, cream?”

  “Yes, one lump or spoon and no,” Vickie replied. “Can I put something on your stereo?”

  “Sure.” A moment later, Kindertotenlieder was wafting through the apartment. Bella brought in a cup for Vickie and a single measured shot for herself.

  She handed the cup to Vickie, who took it, carefully, her hand trembling just a little bit. “The school I went to—okay, you know the college system in England?”

  “Every uni has a lot of colleges, that’s where people live rather than dorms or frats, and the college is partially responsible for your education. I’ve read my Dorothy Sayers.” Bella sipped the scotch, savoring the smoky bite.

  “Well, there are two special colleges over there, one at Oxford, and one at Cambridge, that are—kind of invisible. Merlin at Oxford and Taliesin at Cambridge. You only get invites to join if you’re a magician. You can only get into the building, literally, if you’re a magician. At Oxford, the door into the magic college is in a hallway in Magdalene. Well, I went to Merlin. Before that, I went to another place called St. Rhiannon’s for my high school years. Both of them are pretty hard-core about not turning out pasty-faced little bookworm mages. Merlin has the equivalent of ROTC, and I was in that.” Vickie took a long draught of her tea. “But before that, and during it really, I worked unofficially with my parents for some of their FBI cases—unofficially, because even the FBI would have significant problems with a twelve-year-old helping Mommy and Daddy work a case. I learned most of my gun stuff with them. Sometimes C4 works better than a cantrip.” She made a face. “Yeah, you’d never guess, would you? Bundle of nerves and phobias that I am. You know—”

  But Bella never got a chance to hear the end of that sentence, because the room suddenly washed over with a bright, soft light, and…they weren’t alone.

  The Seraphym stood just inside the window and looked about her curiously, folding wings that were far too large for the apartment to hold, not in the sense that they brushed the apartment walls, but in the sense that they seemed to extend into some dimension outside the usual three.

  Vickie made a small sound, and the almost-empty cup fell from her nerveless fingers. Bella swallowed down the usual reaction she had to the angel, the one that made her want to throw herself on the ground at Sera’s feet. Instead she glanced at Vickie, whose eyes were so wide and pupils so dilated that they seemed to take up half her face.

  “You see her,” Bella said, flatly.

  “Yes,” squeaked Vickie.

  “I keep telling you, I am not an hallucination,” the Seraphym said, amused. “Though a goodly part of the time, John Murdock does not believe me either.”

  Wait—she talked to Johnny too? This was the first that Bella’d had any inkling that the Seraphym spoke to anyone except herself. So…is there something the Seraphym wants out of him? I already knew he was important, or she wouldn’t have helped me save his life, or insisted I get him into CCCP. But to speak directly to him—

  But before Bella could ask anything, the Seraphym spoke again.

  “You remember, I asked you for a promise,” she continued. “I come to ask you to fulfill that promise.”

  Oh no…oh no. Sera didn’t want her to rock the boat. Sera wanted her to back off. Sera—

  “I wish for you to oppose the one called Verdigris,” she said, and sighed. “I showed him his future, if he did not oppose the Thulians, and this is his answer. I may, myself, not work against him. It is not permitted. But it is permitted that I ask you to do so, since you have already determined that someone must.”

  The flames that were Sera’s hair stirred restlessly. Bella had noticed that they did so when Sera was—well, she never actually showed distress, but Bella sensed something like it from her.

  “And just how far—” Bella began.

  But Sera shook her head. “You must make those choices for yourself. I must not interfere with your Free Will. I can only tell you that the one called Verdigris is making his and they lead to destruction. You had already decided to oppose him. I am only asking you to keep your resolve, and see that your choices are good ones. Even when they lead you to places you would not otherwise have gone and you are not sure you are fit for where they take you.”

  Well, she was already not sure she was fit as the leader of a conspiracy…but Bulwark was going to be down for a good long time and you can’t run a conspiracy from a hospital bed; Pride was too used to obeying authority to think of this himself until it was too late; and Ramona, while smart and capable, wasn’t—

  The Seraphym smiled. “You are…”

  —sneaky enough—

  Bella smiled wryly. “I guess I am.”

  The Seraphym nodded gravely. “Then, if it helps strengthen you, know that this is a good choice, now that you have made it, younger sibling. Follow your plan. Consult with others. Choose well.”

  Bella thought she was about to do one of those vanishing acts, but instead, to her bemusement, she turned to Vickie. Vickie looked as if she was trying to vanish into the seat cushions.

  “For you, this. A wise man, a writer like you, once said, ‘There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.’”

  “Louis L’Amour,” Vickie gulped. “But—”

  “Remember that.”

  And now the room washed with warm, bright light; Bella shielded her eyes, and when the light cleared she was not at all surprised to see that the Seraphym was gone.

  The stereo was still playing. Appropriately, Bell recognized Rautavaara, Angel of Light.

  Vickie’s eyes slowly went back to normal. “Does she do that often?” the little mage finally whispered.

  “Talk to me? Uh…yeah.”

  Vickie shivered. “I do not envy you. I’ve only seen her that close once before. I’m surprised I don’t need a change of clothing now.”

  “I guess I’m used to it. Sort of. As used as you can get to it.” She didn’t bother to tell Vickie that was a muted version of the Seraphym. Then again, Vickie probably knew that. She remembered the scotch still in her hand, and tossed the rest down. “All right, well,” she said, in as normal a tone as she could manage. “Since we seem to have gotten a thumbs-up from on high…and since I think it’s going to be a while before you can calm down enough to sleep…let’s talk about getting Tesla’s desk.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Suffer

  Mercedes Lackey and Dennis Lee

  We both knew that we had to have that desk—the Metis communication device that was hidden inside it. We knew that Metis was on the fence. We knew they needed a big push to get off. But unless they heard the real story, the whole truth, and not whatever version they got from the media—assuming they even paid any attention to the media, or were not cut off in their never-never land—we knew that we could never use Tesla’s murder as that push. And they had to hear it soon.

  So we planned to pull off the biggest caper of the century. Rob Echo.

  And for that…there was only one person we could turn to.

  Yeah. Guess who.

  Okay, I had come to a detente with Red Djinni. So, he had a thing about magic, but he’d put up with it now. I still didn’t know why but—

  —but I was about to find out, and it was going to irrevocably change both our lives.

  It had been a very bad day.

  Vickie had been out on the Le Parkour course this morning, because she was out on the course every morning, and to break that pattern could make someone—Verdigris—take notice. Right now, having Verd take notice would be a disaster. The conspirators had to make everything look normal. Normal. As if anything could be normal now. She tried not to think too hard about Bull; she’d slipped i
nto the Echo hospital unit to see him. What she could of him, under all the machines. He looked…like a special effect. And not a good one.

  “Nervous” did not even begin to describe how tightly she was wound up. She didn’t dare drug up this close to an op, but she was a hair away from a panic attack. Piled on top of raw nerves was worry over Bulwark. He was one of hers, the first to really believe in her in Echo, the first to give Overwatch a chance. And atop the nerves and the worry was guilt. If only he’d been wired…if only she’d found some way to get some sort of camera feed for the meeting. If only…

  It had been hotter than the Mojave Desert and dripping humidity, and she, of course, was out there in long sleeves, long pants and gloves. She thought now she might have gotten a touch of heat exhaustion, but all she knew for sure was that there was one moment when she was jumping (or trying to) and reaching for a handhold, then there was a moment of blankness, and the next thing she knew, she was falling.

  Okay, she fell all the time…except this time she’d been halfway up the wall, and the automatic reaction was to scramble wildly for handholds to save herself. Her brain knew what to do; her old reactions knew. The only way to make this suck less was to grab and let go, grab and let go, slowing your fall rather than stopping it. And every time she grabbed, she pulled and wrenched and strained things that really didn’t want to be pulled, couldn’t bear being wrenched, and tore under strain.

  By the time she hit the ground and rolled, her body was screaming with pain. Her skin felt like it had been shredded, her muscles were sobbing, her tendons…she just lay there on the ground for a very long time, her whole body a symphony of agony. Nobody was going to come, of course. Ever since encountering Djinni one too many times on the course, she’d put a little spell in place to make people not see her when she was there. And this was how such things came back to bite you in the ass.

  Finally she managed to move, but that was all she could take; no getting back on the horse today.

  Maybe not ever.

  She got herself off the course, dragged herself to her car, got home, fell on the couch and assessed the damage. Or assessed it as much as she could without undressing.

  Then, she cried. Partly from the pain, and partly from defeat. She had been trying to make some kind of physical recovery, trying so hard. Bella encouraged her, said it would help with the panic. Said she needed to get out, join the field teams, that she could get back some of what she had been, once. That it was going to work.

  But it wasn’t, not when every time she went out, she seemed to do worse, not better. This is impossible. I can’t do this…I should just stick with what I’m capable of. She hugged herself, rocking, shivering, crying, too sick with pain to even move to the bathroom.

  She knew she couldn’t afford to indulge herself like this. Not when her team was counting on her, and they would have to have her soon, at the top of her game. Get yourself together. The team’s ready. The Vault’s as cleared as Pride can make it. Two hours, they’ll need you and we have got to get the unit. That precious, precious Metis communication unit.

  Bella and Pride both agreed; getting that unit was key. Right now Metis might not know Tesla was dead; they certainly didn’t know that there was someone very bad in charge. Bella was right; they had to get proactive. We can’t chance Verdigris getting it, and we have got to get in touch with Merc and Nikola Tesla, maybe help them knock some sense into Metis.

  That was the logical little voice in the back of her head; the rest of her just wanted to curl up around a bottle of pain pills and keep crying. She knew which part she’d listen to…eventually. Just…not right now. Not when it hurt so damn bad she was sick, and it was all she could do to keep from opening a vein to make it stop.

  She heard the knock on her door.

  ***

  It had been a very bad day.

  But then, when was the last time he’d had a good one?

  Try as he might, Red Djinni couldn’t shake the voices. They threw their taunts, their jabs and sharp daggers of accusation his way. Despite years of finely honed reflexes, he had not been fast enough to save Amethist. For all his experience at reading people, for gauging their strengths, weaknesses and character, he had not been shrewd enough to see through Harmony’s act. And Jack? He had been stupid enough to trust Jack. Again.

  Yet the work continued. There was always more work to do. This time, he was determined to do it right. No more jobs on the fly, they had barely gotten out of the last one alive. Again, it had almost become a disaster because of him. Arrogance, self-preservation, even blind faith in his own stupid luck had placed not just him, but his entire team in danger. People he was responsible for.

  He was not about to admit he cared for them, yet.

  He shrugged it off and ascribed his determination to do things right this time to a professional code of conduct. Watch their backs, they will watch yours, do the job and get out alive. And he wanted to do this job, though he wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t for redemption, was it? Surely not. That never ended well. Pride? Faint glimmers of newly found heroic tendencies? Laughable.

  Nevertheless, they needed to do this, and he needed to help them.

  Of course, his first reaction had been far from positive.

  “Another vault job? I thought the point of me joining this outfit was to stop being a criminal bastard!”

  It was Victrix, of course, who explained it to him. The others had thrown up their hands and walked away, letting Victrix calmly lay out the logic. How they were very close to losing their way to any foothold they still had on their own destiny. The revelation of the existence of a genuine angel was a bit of a shock—though Red still had his doubts about that and had merely nodded to get Victrix to shut up about it. The legend of Metis though, that had definitely fired up his imagination. So it was clear, the first step was to reestablish contact with them. And to do that, they needed what Victrix called (with heavy irony) “The MacGuffin,” neatly tucked away unbeknownst to Verdigris in Echo’s own Vault. And for that, they needed to convince the thief.

  Eventually, even Victrix lost her patience.

  “Unless, of course, you’d rather see Echo under the control of the same guy that poisons water supplies so he can sell water purifiers to people who are dying of thirst. The same guy who planted Harmony on us, who trained someone so treacherous she could not only kill Tesla, but flawlessly convince Bulwark she was a wounded bird until she put him down for the count.”

  Then she showed him the evidence. It was enough to convince even him.

  So they got to work, all of them. They planned it out, banging their heads together in secret every night for a solid week in Bella’s cramped apartment. Victrix brought the floor plans and schematics, Yankee Pride the guard schedules and postings for the Vault, Djinni his considerable tactical know-how for circumventing countermeasures, and Bella the bodies, the members of a conspiracy he hadn’t even known existed. A conspiracy that had somehow managed to rope in Yankee Pride and Ramona Ferrari.

  A gal named Mel brought the booze and pizza and Chex mix. Red Saviour of the commies offered a safe place to stash the MacGuffin when they got it. Ramona found the exact Vault where the desk had gone, then mapped out a way to get to that Vault that would skirt them past any opposition until they reached the building. And Bella, unable to contribute anything to the planning, came and went, often returning with armloads of black mesh outfits, weaponry, ammo and other sundries. Unmarked, of course.

  The plan was solid, with smaller windows of opportunity than he was normally comfortable with, but solid. The only flaw, as far as Red could see, was they were still one man short.

  Or woman, rather.

  He paused for just a moment, then knocked on her door.

  ***

  Paranoia means you don’t have a peephole in your door, you have a camera system. Paranoia means you don’t even stand near the door to see who’s there. Vickie stabbed at the camera control next to her with a shaking hand thre
e times before she managed to turn it on, and the image of her visitor came up on her TV.

  Fear lanced through her. It was the Red Djinni. Of all people, it was Djinni. How? Why?

  Were they calling the raid off? Hope and despair battered her at the thought. Hope that they might have, and she’d have a little more time to get herself together—despair that they might have, and they’d never get another chance. She jabbed at the microphone switch.

  “Djinni,” she croaked, her voice a harsh rasp. Crying did that. She hadn’t screamed, not even when she fell. She never screamed anymore. “What?”

  “You sound terrible,” he said, his voice clear over the intercom. “Open up, Victrix. Let’s talk.”

  She didn’t want to let him in. She didn’t like letting anyone into her space, but she didn’t want to let him in, especially. Not at any time, particularly not now.

  “I’m…kinda sick,” she said. “Look, I’m in no shape to…just tell me what you want. Is the op canceled?” That was safe enough to ask. They were Echo. It could be any op.

  “No,” he replied, his head turning to appraise the hallway. It was quiet. They seemed to be alone, but who could take chances? They had come too far. “Let me in, maybe we can talk face to face, y’know, for a change.”

  “I’m sick,” she repeated, and then had to grab for a waste basket, because she was. Great. Just great. “Trust me, you don’t want to be in here right…” urp “…now.” And the heaving just made her whole chest and shoulders and stomach wail with pain.

  “I can take it,” he began. “I’ve seen—”

  “No!” she cried as her teeth clamped shut, fighting to keep her breathing steady and unlabored. Steady breathing. Hyperventilating only made the panic attack worse. “Please, just…I’ll be all right, I just have to…I need to get…”

  Djinni swore and counted to ten. Patience, he told himself. She doesn’t want you to come in, fine. You don’t need to go in there, but she sure as hell needs to come out.